


The Bond Between Us

by AzureAshes875



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Feels, M/M, Reincarnation, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-10-31 09:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17847182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureAshes875/pseuds/AzureAshes875
Summary: Fifteen hundred years. After fifteen hundred years, Merlin begins to forget; as Arthur begins to remember. Visions draw the King to his Warlock; as they desperately try to find each other in modern day Albion. Based off a you tube video. Modern AU. reincarnation fic.





	1. Forget

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Klinn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klinn/gifts).



> I want to thank sega117 for being my co creator, and my beta reader and editor. She was the one that introduced me to Merlin, and I have loved the series since and now she is helping me write my first fic ever in this series.
> 
> Klinn made this absolute amazing AU video for Arthur and Merlin; and I fell in love with it so much that I had to write a fic on it. the video link will be posted, the title of this work is the same as the title for the video. 
> 
> I thrive on gentle feedback; so please please comment, it keeps us going.
> 
> Klinn,
> 
>  
> 
> without further adu, I (we) dedicate this fic to you and the video you created.
> 
> Link to the video here:  
> https://youtu.be/T5u_ql2H1wQ

 

* * *

 

**_“You say_ **

**_We can't go on this way_ **

**_Things have got to change_ **

**_When your gone_ **

**_And each day_ **

**_A choice gets made_ **

**_You think it's yours to make_ **

**_But your wrong..” Chase and Status_ **

* * *

 

The night sky was always an endless sea of stars, an unchanging blanket he could always count on to guide him; hardly different from what it was fifteen hundred years ago. It was the same vast ocean of constellations; glittering planets and long tailed comets that still kept him company.

Albion had changed since then; no longer a Medieval Nation. It had become a smattering of cities, modernized with cars and electric lights; skyscrapers and trains; ships with engines; planes and bombs.

In all of this the sky that he had laid under in forested camps had not left him, remaining the only constant as time wore on, only shrouded when he was trapped in the city with its too-bright artificial light and unnatural noise.

Merlin Emrys laid on cold concrete, wrapped in a warm jacket and a beanie snug on his head. Despite his clothes keeping out the chill he still shivered as a fire that once burned deep inside of him dimmed; on the verge of going out.

Electric blue eyes stared up into black canopy above him, cigarette pressed between his lips. He inhaled deeply and watched nimbly as the smoke left his mouth in a puff.

London bustled around him; a modern city that still had ancient bones, swept up in the cutting edge while mottled with the old. History was always just underneath, if you knew where to look; as unchanging as the shadowed stars above him.

_Fifteen hundred fucking years._

Merlin sighed and closed his eyes, trying to remember.

Remember his magic…

Remember Camelot…

Remember _him-the once and future King._

Merlin had waited for him, had searched for any sign that he had risen again- _coming forth from the lake with water cascading down his skin-_ deep blue eyes akin to something of joy at seeing the warlock again.

He had reached out with his magic through the years; searching, yearning, and eventually… _retreating_.

Just like the memories his magic began to fade the less he used it. It still thrummed in him-humming in a rhythm in tandem with the heart of the Earth-but now it was only a distant call; difficult to hear and reach.

He supposed that was just what happens with the time-like his King-magic quietly forgotten.

Merlin threw an arm over his eyes, his vision blurring in and out as memories tried to take hold, like they were attempting to jog even the slightest bit of detail to his conscious mind.

It was buried in his bones, in the very osteoblasts that developed his frame-a name surfaced-a name he hadn’t spoken in so long. It came unbidden to his lips, while colors he had forgotten mixed with cloudy spots in his eyes as he clung to what he was so desperate for.

“Arthur. Arthur Pendragon.”

* * *

**_“Your not going to going to say goodbye.” Merlin told him._ **

**_“No. No.” Arthur replied._**  

**_Neither of them ever did._ **

* * *

" _Forbearnan. Arthur, it’s time to awaken, Sire.”_

He sat up sharply, sweat running down pale skin and beading into pools on cotton sheets. Blonde hair, dampened from the heat clung to his forehead, reminding him that somehow he was real; even as his vision swam in and out. 

He felt wrong, like a part of him was buried, drowned, _undone_. He wasn’t complete-missing an important piece-a part of himself that was disappearing.  He didn’t belong, his head swimming between dream and reality.

He needed to feel the castle, tye hardened stone erected to show power, only to find that when his hand unclenched itself from the sheet it grasped onto an alarm clock, not a wooden bed frame, nor a castle wall.

He kept his eyes closed, holding onto the illustration that had weaved itself into his dreams, like a book from an old library.

All he remembered was the feel of a draft, the grey stone of a wall, and what captured his attention the most was the figure.

It had been kneeling by a stone fireplace, a shadowed hand outstretched into the hearth. He had shifted and golden eyes glanced at him in the darkness; softening when he sensed the beginning to awakening.

The room had lit up with fire, golden shifting to sharp blue. Laying in the bed he had felt whole, as blue rested on him; dawn softly forming in grey light.

When the figure spoke, asking him to awaken, he snapped out of his stupor-unsure of where he was.

The sound of traffic outside his window grounded him, holding him in this world of real- _tangible_.

Arthur Pendragon took in a deep shuddering breath, sliding the sheets off his athletic form as he slipped out of bed.

Dawn had barely begun to rise, the sun beginning to cast soft grey and pink hues in a scattered light.

He leaned against the wall by the window, a habit that had formed when he was younger, and when he was asked why he would only shrug his shoulders; unsure of why he sought comfort here.

“Dawn.” he murmured softly, tendrils of warm fire echoing from the ether into his mind.

In and out.

In and out.

He ran a hand over his face before moving away from the window, dizziness sweeping over him.

He sat on the bed both hands cradling his head, golden eyes flashing to a familiar blue, the color brighter with each breath.

“I was never supposed to say goodbye to you, was I?” he asked out loud, mind churning in a cloud of bewilderment, as if there were pieces trying to click into place.

He shook his head, fighting the unconscious thoughts surrounding him, _enveloping_ him.

Standing up he made his way to the dresser and picked out clothes for a jog-anything to snap him out of the haze his brain had decided to muddle him in.

Even as he got dressed Arthur felt as though someone else-someone with a hidden power running through their veins was supposed to dress him-smiling in cheeky fashion the whole time.

He pulled a black hoodie over his head only to see a vision flash against his eyes once again:

_A crowded room; nobles, princes, and kings._

_Then somewhere a voice behind him said, “No, you weren't supposed to say goodbye. You are my destiny.”_

“I’m blimey out of my god damn mind.” he said out loud once more, as if his entire sanity had left him as his vision once again refocused.

He reached for his ipod and slipped on his headphones, reaching for his wallet and keys.

Arthur Pendragon turned-facing whatever spectre was haunting him-saying in a King like voice:

“I never said goodbye. I just have to find you then, don’t I?”

With the fast snap of a door Arthur left his flat and the unnerving feelings behind him.


	2. Lonely Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So close, and yet still so very far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter was totally written by Sega117. She is my biggest inspiration, my sister, and my editor beta reader. I am so excited she decided to help write this fic. On top of that her creativity is astounding and I highly recommend one checks out her other works. 
> 
> without any more delay, here is chapter 2!!

_‘Tried to keep you close to me_

_But life got in between_

_Tried to square not being there_

_But think that I should have been’_

Hold Back the River, James Bay

* * *

 

Merlin had friends, once, that much he remembers as he winds his way through the crowded streets and back alleys of the city. There was a time when he relied on others, people who knew his secret, but helped him keep it- _helped him keep it from the King he loved, the King he served and protected with that secret gift_.

But now he finds himself painfully alone, with fragmented memories and still _waiting_ -but he’s beginning to forget what it is he’s waited for. There’s no one there to remind him; no one to keep his secrets anymore and no King to keep his secrets from.

It was only a few months ago he had used a spell to strip himself of his old age, hoping that seeing his younger, awkward face would help him remember something- _anything_. But instead it just thrust him into more frustration as he was treated like a youth, either by the young passerby that vied for his attention or the elderly folks who would kindly offer him a piece of age old wisdom. It also made him painfully aware that there was no one with shared life experience, no one he could confide in, and it caused him to miss Gaius terribly.

_Gaius_.

Another name he had managed to dredge up from his fractured mind only days ago. Gaius, who might as well have been his father, who helped shape and mold him-Gaius, who had long since returned to the earth and left Merlin to bear the burden of the world alone.

Pushing those thoughts from his head, Merlin rounded another corner and stepped out onto the busy sidewalk, slipping into the flow of foot traffic with a practiced amount of ease. He wasn’t sure where he was heading-to one of the museums, probably, because he felt most at home among ancient things and no matter how much he longed to travel he could never quite make it more than a few scant miles from the city.

Despite his dwindling memory something tied him here, though whether he was bound by his heart, soul, or magic he didn’t know.

Low hanging clouds drifted above him, swirling dark grey and ominous, probably filled with rain that would let loose at any moment. It was just that time of year, when sunshine was rare and the world seemed to be on the precipice of flooding. There was a time in his life when dull days like this were spent zipping around a castle he used to have memorized- _chasing someone with a smile like the sun_ -but now if he were to step into the same sacred manor he doubted he would even recognize it.

Lately he didn’t mind the rain so much, having abandoned his umbrella a few weeks ago in favor of getting soaked with the naive hope that it might trigger some memory or another. Or perhaps he had done it because he actually liked the rain, the feeling of it on his skin, but he wasn’t so sure anymore.

If memories make the person, then he was a quarter of one at best.

Glancing between the crowd and the rows of buildings he began to make a beeline for an older one, the Victoria and Albert Museum, which he’d heard had a new Medieval display that featured works from his natural born century. At least he knew _when_ he was from, mostly. But the timeline was muddled as of late…

As Merlin stopped and waited with the crowd for one of the lights to change he felt something hot prick at the back of his neck, and on instinct his eyes snapped around-scanning the crowd; _looking_ for someone or something.

But there was no one. No one that he recognized.

A pang of disappointment stabs at his heart  as the ‘walk’ sign flashes and not willing to linger he carries on with the crowd, wondering why and where that sensation came from.

Closing in on the museum he shrugs it off.

He was centuries old, frayed, and forgetful.

It had probably been nothing.

* * *

 

Music pounds in his ears, probably too loud, and yet, at the same time Arthur can hardly hear it.

He's jogging on his usual route, the one he's taken every morning since moving to his apartment in the heart of London. But he doesn't see a bit of the scenery as he sprints his way through the dreary streets, because his mind is a thousand miles away.

In his head he's running somewhere else, somewhere quieter; somewhere _older_. No cars, no sidewalks, no blaring horns and flashing lights-

_Cobblestone streets echo his footsteps instead, as he winds his way through the rays of sunlight and the shadows of a castle. Blurred faces shout greetings at him, hands waving excitedly as he passes by. Despite his confusion he smiles broadly, because this place feels like home-_

Drops of rain jar him back to the present, and when his world comes back into focus the change is so disorientating that he jerks to a halt. Arthur yanks the headphones from his ears and looks around breathlessly; wide eyed and sweating.

He finds himself far from his normal track, lodged in a crowd of people clogged up at a crosswalk that he doesn’t recognize. Someone is muttering next to him, and he glances up, only to be greeted with dirty looks and nervous stares.

He must’ve bounded into the group of pedestrians while he was lost in that daydream- _vision_ , whatever it was.

Swallowing thickly he offers an apologetic smile to anyone looking, but says nothing. What would he say anyway?

Suddenly the light that’s holding everyone up changes and they all move off, walking across the street as Arthur just stands there, rattled and dumbfounded.

Maybe he should just go back to his apartment, take some time out to get his head back together-no music this time, just walking and keeping his mind in the present to avoid any unwanted… _wandering_.

He turns to go back, but something catches his eye.

A large banner hangs vertically from one of the light posts. It’s an advertisement for a new gallery opening at a museum only a block away- _a medieval gallery._

That word strikes him. _Medieval._ More so the artwork of an old king on the banner is what strikes him. It’s familiar, so familiar that his pulse pounds and the hair on his neck stands up, but he knows he’s never seen it before.

He’s always had a fascination with that era of history. There was just something about it that fascinated him, even in school _-the time of kings,_ they called it. He never indulged beyond what was required for his coursework, though; really, he never had the time-but when he did study it, it always drew him in. As a kid he would fantasize about what it would be like to be one of those kings-to fight for his kingdom, serving the throne with honor and valor.

The rational part of Arthur’s mind scolds him, whispering that he should go home and forget this foolishness. But with the odd feeling left behind by those visions sitting heavy in his chest he finds himself walking back to the edge of the street and following the next crowd of people as they cross the intersection.

He tries to justify it to himself-for months now he’s been feeling out of sorts. Vivid dreams, sometimes nightmares-voices waking him in the night and ghostly images during the day. Arthur isn’t even sure what triggered it all; if he was just going mad or bonkers or if he was being haunted by some ghastly spirit from who knows where.

Perhaps winding up here was a coincidence. He believed in those…

But… maybe it would help him find an answer-if there was one-or maybe it would at least quiet the tempest that was starting to thunder through his everyday life, robbing him of his sense of normalcy and leaving him feeling… _empty, as if something was missing._

_As if_ **_someone_ ** _was missing._

Shaking his head, Arthur follows the now rain soaked sidewalk to the entrance of the museum.

* * *

 

It’s all Merlin can do not to run his fingers over the suit of armor in front of him; to reach out and feel the chilly steel against his skin. The urge is instinctual; and although the wizard knows the order of clasps and the nicks in the tarnished silver by heart, he finds a hard lump of disappointment forming in his throat-because he has no memory of these things, only the inherent knowledge of them.

He knows he served a King, he knows he _loved_ a King, and by coming here he knows he put on and took off that King’s armor-armor that was just like this-countless times, but the name and the face and the voice are all gone; like water slipping through his hands.

A strangled sigh escapes his lips. Merlin hoped to find solace here, not frustration. Being surrounded by familiar things was supposed to help him remember, not remind him of what he’d forgotten-not drive the splinter of loss further into his heart.

Gaius would’ve had something wise to say, something that would’ve helped. He clings to that name, tries to use it trace back, to find purchase on a memory…

But there’s nothing there.

Turning sharply Merlin walks away from the armor, further into the wide display of art and artifacts from his home century.

He tells himself that knowing _when_ is half the battle, that maybe if he kept following that line he would eventually find some clue that would lead him to the _where,_ and more importantly the _who._ Something, somewhere had to hold the answer, he just had to _find_ it.

Merlin pauses at a painting of a castle, dulled blue eyes sweeping over the dark colors-the brown, grey stone, the archways and bridges, the evergreen forest encircling the walls. He lived somewhere similar, that much he knows, but the intimate details are missing. Even using his magic doesn’t bring them back.

Again, he sighs and moves on, past chalices and grails; petrified tools and jewelry. It’s only when he catches a glimpse of his reflection in an ornate mirror does he stop.

He never owned a mirror, not back then, not now. Only royalty or the wealthy had ones like this-with so few imperfections and such elegant trim.

His body moves on its own, and Merlin stares at himself as he walks closer to the gleaming surface. A lock turns in the back of his mind.

_“I look ridiculous.”_

_Merlin doesn’t recognize the voice-can’t place it-but it’s warm and rolling and it reminds him of the way sunlight feels on his skin._

_“You look fine. Stop fidgeting.” His own voice; chiding, teasing-_ **_happy-_ **

But as quickly as the memory is there it’s gone-fleeting like a single heartbeat. Merlin tries to grasp it, to drag it back and hold it, but it falls away and he’s left again with nothing.

The wizard opens his eyes-he didn’t even realize he had closed them-and when he sees his reflection he notices his irises have gone gold. For an instant they glitter and flash like stardust, before fading back to pale cerulean.

Against all sense, without a single care for who might see him, Merlin reaches out with a hand and rests his fingertips on the mirror. He waits for just a moment; hoping, wishing, _crying out_ for that familiar, faceless voice…

But when nothing comes he jerks away bitterly.

If memories made the person then he was an orphan; _left abandoned by his King and his memories._

* * *

 

It feels like there are pins under Arthur’s nails-pricking, stabbing-as if he’s being broken and put back together all in the same instant.

He stares at the painting in front of him, slacked jawed and on the balls of his feet-because it’s like he’s looking in a mirror, even though he doesn’t recognize himself _he knows it’s him._

His eyes rake over the canvas, over each and every detail of the man standing triumphant-the helmet of his armor abandoned at his feet, a crown held fast in his hands. Arthur can almost feel the heaviness of the chainmail on his own shoulders and the weight of the sword sheathed at his hip-and the sensation is claustrophobic.

The blonde hair, the sapphire eyes, the expression of acceptance-no, of _pride-_ all of them are _his._ His features, his visage, and yet it’s not him at all. Or is it?

Nothing about it makes sense-nothing about anything that’s happening makes sense.

But Arthur isn’t thinking when he reaches out and rests his fingertips on the painting-breaking every rule that there is. He doesn’t even realize that no one is around to see him, to scold him or tear him away.

For a moment he feels grounded, like the world isn’t twisting and turning and shaking him upside down-like there’s something real and solid behind the canvas; something that he _understands_ . But the rational side of his brain kicks in again, bringing the _impossibility_ of what’s happening back down on his head so hard he feels dizzy.

With a shuddering breath he pulls away, looking around nervously as he realizes he’s just stuck his oily mitts all over something priceless and fragile-and thank Winston Churchill no one watched him do it.

Thoroughly unnerved and more worse for wear than when he came in, Arthur turns to leave, before he does something worse-like putting on a suit of armor _just to see if it fits_ . But that mysterious _something_ tugs at him again, and he glances over his shoulder at the name of the painting on the plaque beneath it.

_‘King Arthur’_

_‘Charles Ernest Butler’_

_‘1903’_

_King Arthur. King Arthur. KING ARTHUR._

He whirls and it’s all he can do not to sprint out of the museum.

Above the storm suddenly breaking loose in his head, Arthur finds himself stuck on one thought-one observation that was the most heartbreaking and strange of all- _that the painting was missing something._

_It was missing someone-and so was he._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is chapter 2!! I would highly recommend you guys look up the painting, when Sega117 showed it to me I was like whoa...it looks eerily like Bradley James. let us know what you all think!! feed back is appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> here is chapter 1. If you haven't watched the video please do so.


End file.
